I watched him shampoo his hair and soap up his body, but I drew the line when he planted one hand on the shower wall and started to stroke himself.

I cleared my throat, loudly.

Carmichael froze.

“Yep,” I said, “that wasn’t in your mind.”

He spun around, nearly falling on the slick tile floor. His half-flaccid penis was more impressive than I’d expected, and I raised a single brow in acknowledgment of that fact. He stood frozen in place, the hot water hitting his back and his hand cupping his man bits. “Who are you and what the fuck are you doing in here?”

My eyebrows rose, and I hopped off the counter. “You don’t recognize me?” I approached the shower, stopping at the glass wall to stare at him up close and personal. “From what I understand, my picture’s all over the place right now.”

Recognition dawned, and his eyes rounded. “You—you’re her—Katarina Dubois.”

“Also known as . . .”

He mouthed, “Ink Witch.”

“Ding-ding-ding,” I sang, grinning. “I knew you’d get it eventually.” I gave him elevator eyes, the quick, disinterested version. “Why don’t you go ahead and rinse off, Mitch, and then we can get started.”

His face was flushed from the heat in the shower, but even so, the color seemed to drain from his face. “Get started with what?”

I blinked several times. “Why, finding the truth, of course.”

“The truth about what?”

“Aren’t you just the nosy Nellie.” I tapped the glass wall with the tip of my sword, watching his eyes search for the source of the noise and appreciating his confused expression when he found nothing. “Or would ‘eager beaver’ be more appropriate?”

Carmichael backed away from the glass wall. “You’re insane.” He continued backing up until he hit the tile wall.

“Maybe,” I said with a nod, not discouraging his conclusion one bit. It’s more fun when they think I’m unhinged. “But I’m also the one with an invisible sword, so . . . I’d do what I say, if I were you.”

“I have money,” Carmichael blurted.

I shrugged one shoulder. “Don’t want it.”

“Cars . . . stock . . . property . . .”

“I don’t want any of that,” I said, enunciating each word clearly.

“Well what do you want from me, then?” Carmichael was panicking. I could see it in his wild eyes, hear it in the timbre of his voice. His entire body trembled. Fight-or-flight was kicking in, and he wanted to run. Good; survival mode was good. Right where I wanted him.

I plastered on a plastic smile. “What I want, Mitch, is for you to rinse off and come out here so we can have a little chat.” I winked at him. “Don’t worry, buddy, I’ll take things slow. Who knows . . . you might even enjoy yourself.”

Some people got off on the bite of pain. Hell, I wasn’t opposed to it, myself. It was entirely possible that Carmichael was one such person. It would be amusing for me, but it would be unfortunate for him. I’d have to use more extreme interrogation tactics. Pleasure from pain only stretched so far. Eventually, there was only pain.